Fragile
by Viniloversus
Summary: Their relationship always was shaky at best, fragile; like a house of cards waiting for a breeze strong enough to push it into the cold ground and it seemed that as much as he had tried to shield it from the wind, his house would have gone tumbling down sooner or later. And he was mute, immobile, watching as the heartless wind blew away his carefully crafted house of cards. SSxHG


**Hello and welcome! I hope you like the story down there!**

 **Disclaimer: J. K. Rowlings owns all recognisable characters**

 **English is not my native language. Please, if you find something weird point it out.**

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 **Fragile**

Ron couldn't help but watch her. It was a mix of two things that made it impossible for him to look away from her. First of all, she was sitting right in front of him. Unless he changed seats or that he kept his head turned to the side, he would be able to see her as long as he looked up. The second, perhaps the most important of the two, was the fact that just like when they were in Hogwarts, his eyes seemed to be glued onto her. It was like a sensor turned on inside of him, alerting him of her presence whenever Hermione entered the room he was in, and his eyes would follow her, enticed by dark magic that he wasn't able to understand save to know that it _must_ be obeyed.

His eyes drank in the sight of her, desperately, beseechingly. They took in the sight of her smiling, on the way her lips would curve into a smile or her eyes would crinkle in happiness. If he strained, he was able to hear the musical sound of her laughter, and he smiled at the thought.

Only for his smile to be wiped away immediately as he caught sight, once again, of the other man sitting beside her. The slimy bat looked content, as well, and he was leaning slightly closer to her than before, his closeness bordering on improper but still not…

It wasn't a reason.

No reason at all to… _worry_. No reason to be _jealous_.

Except for her eyes and her hands and her smile and her…

They were all wrong.

He lowered his eyes and the grip on his drink turned so strong that his knuckles turned white. He gritted his teeth and swallowed down a generous gulp of his Firewhiskey, feeling the drink burning as it went down his throat, all of the satisfaction he'd felt turning into deeply lodged bitterness.

He didn't know what to feel or in which order to do so with as many emotions that swam inside of his stomach and up his throat. He felt anger; an staggering amount of it, so much of it, in fact, that he believed he could see it oozing from him in rivulets of negativeness and desires of violence. He also felt other things, they were more distant, more detached. Amongst those, he could detect sadness and a good deal of disappointment. There are other, feelings he couldn't name, he didn't know. But the other, ironically overpowering, emotion was powerlessness.

Powerlessness was the reason that he did this; he kept watching her instead of just leaving his seat and marching there to... talk to her, to him, maybe he would scream at her, at him, or hex him. His powerlessness was keeping him quiet even though inside of him a storm was brewing.

He could almost hear her saying that he had the emotional range of a teaspoon. The thought made him smile in an awful, bittersweet way as he reflected that perhaps it was true; maybe he was feeling too much, guessing too much and that was the reason why he was paralysed by his emotions.

Perhaps that was the reason why he felt so powerless whenever he watched her.

He was mute; all of his words stockpiling together inside of his throat and forming a massive lump that he could not hope to speak pass. He was immobile; his feet felt like lead, wearing him down and keeping him in place, his hands felt like they were cemented to his glass.

Not even his eyes were exempt from betraying him, directing up to look towards her, following her movements, seeing her smiling at someone else, _torturing_ him.

He was powerless.

It felt like there's a… bubble, no, a glass around him, it felt like…

It was keeping him from everything.

Keeping him so he would not explode into a million of pieces in front of her, showing her how much this all hurt.

And it hurt. It burned so much that it throbbed.

Because... Because...

 _'She loves him.'_

 _Him_ , not Ron, but him…

As he watched, Ron was struck by this seemingly innocent fact. That thought stabbed through the glass keeping him from shattering himself and presented to him without permission. As he watched, Ron was struck by this seemingly innocent fact. _'She loves him'_ his mind repeated insistently against the wall his heart was trying to build against the cruel and sudden invasion that little fact threatened to bring over. She loved him; it was in the eyes, which shone brighter than thousands of suns, on that tiny smile that curved upon her rosy lips, in the hands that sneakily, almost on their own volition, strived to touch him with a frenzy that seemed almost obscene for such an innocent exchange. For it was, innocent, that is. Ron wouldn't dare to doubt her; she was far too noble to hurt him, but the fact still remained, and he could refuse it as much as he could deny the sky is blue or that the sun sets each dusk.

And it was painful, terribly so.

Because... Because...

' _He loves her, as well,'_ the thought followed the other almost without a pause, and his hands reflexively tightened on his glass, his eyes stinging in a way they hadn't since the war ended and he lost a brother and a piece of his mom as well.

Lost…

He was losing her, wasn't he?

The austere Slytherin was harder to read than her, whom he'd known since they were both teens, but he was being obvious too. And Ron thought it would be better for him, less painful, perhaps, if he caught a glimpse of the usual bitterness in the dark eyes instead of what he saw. It was, like Hermione, in his black eyes that looked just a tad bit warmer when he gazed at her. He didn't quite smile, and he didn't do much of anything, but there was a softness there; something tender that made Ron want to march there and strangle him, so much it provoked his jealousy.

But Ron didn't obey his impulse and instead, he watched and watched, feeling his heart touching unprecedented lows as the scene in front of him unfolded.

All in all, it was a lunch between colleagues and anyone watching would be hard pressed to find any signs of untoward happenings. But what Ron saw; the gestures, the looks, the overall atmosphere between the two was enough to make his stomach revolt. Just the way she looked at the older man was almost too much to bear. Such devotion... Such admiration... Such… Affection... Had she ever looked at him like that? Had she ever smiled at him like that? No, at least not recently. Perhaps at the beginning when they were fresh and new she had, but now that was gone, and he felt the loss all the more acutely. Mainly because he, Ron, loved her, loves her still and seeing her drifting away from him was living agony.

' _They love each other.'_

The thought stabbed through him, shaking him, effectively demolishing what little remained of the glass keeping him together and he felt himself shudder with a cold that had little to do with how warm the restaurant was and a lot to do with how he felt. How odd, he wanted to scream but he pressed his lips tighter into a thin line, hunching over into his seat. He distantly wondered if something was wrong with him, because, how come that he was so calm? How was it possible that all he did was nothing when he should be screaming and raging and crying… ? How come he wasn't _moving_? Would it change anything if he did?

How was he supposed to fight against _that_?

What… What could he do against love?

What did he have against except his own love without companion and his broken heart?

He was powerless.

He was powerless to avoid such a thing from happening since he had allowed her to work in Hogwarts – but, could he have really stopped her, though, when that was what she really wanted? -, ever since he had allowed himself to watch her drifting away from him.

He lost her.

The fact is all devastating in its finality, and for a moment he wished he could turn back time so he could avoid her ever accepting that job that took her away from him. He knew it was useless to think that; their relationship always was shaky at best, fragile; like a house of cards waiting for a breeze strong enough to push it into the cold ground and it seemed that as much as he had tried to shield it from the wind, his house would have gone tumbling down sooner or later. They were too different, people had said, and maybe Ron should have heard them, for now, he was mute and immobile, watching as the heartless wind blew away his carefully crafted house of cards into nothingness.

Was he selfish for wanting to hold onto her, for wishing he could keep her?

He remembered how he ended up here, it seemed like it was an eternity ago when in truth couldn't have been more than half an hour ago.

He had hoped to surprise her, he remembered. He had expected that he would be able to get in some points because he had been particularly sloppy with this relationship thing so far and she taking that job at Hogwarts hadn't helped to make things better.

He'd remembered her mentioning that she was going to a pub regularly to grab a bite and it seemed like a good idea to go there and surprise her. It had been, after all, long time since they had seen each other.

They were busy, and he failed quite regularly at remembering when he had to send letters.

It wasn't that he didn't love her, he just was so tired at the end of the day that he would… forgot about contacting her sometimes and he kept overlooking the fact that she wasn't living at The Burrow anymore. So he thought that appearing at the pub and maybe having lunch together would make things right, he would get her some chocolates and finally get around asking her how her job was going.

He was the one surprised finding that she already had company.

He'd strutted up to a table, expecting to catch a glimpse of her as she came in and hoping that he wasn't quite as unfortunate as to have her not come today. Then he saw her, the unique mop of hair entering into his field of vision. He was about to call her, to wave his hands so she would be able to see him realise that she didn't have to eat alone anymore when he faltered, doing a double take as he noticed that she wasn't alone. What was more, he knew the imposing figure sitting beside her. Seeing her sitting with another man made his sight go red, but then his legs locked over and his lips sealed shut into a tight trap that his words could not hope to survive as he watched.

The other Ron, the Ron before the war would have marched off there without consideration because that Ron did not trust Hermione as he did.

The other Ron would have already had his wand out and would be firing hexes. The other would have screamed the pub down and would have thought the worst about her because he wasn't used to attention and he was scared, oh so terrified of losing it. The other Ron wouldn't be mute, wouldn't be paralysed like he was.

This Ron just slumped into his seat, feeling his throat close and his eyes sting because, while he knew that she wasn't… she wouldn't cheat on him, she was..., _happy_ , _she was in love_ , and that was ten times worse than her cheating on him. She appeared pleased, and for the life of him, he could not remember the last time he had seen her happy with him.

And he wanted her to be happy. With him.

And if this display was to be believed, he won't be able to make her happy.

Ron wanted her to be happy, but he wanted to be happy too, and he was sure that he wouldn't be satisfied with anyone but her.

Was it that so bad? Was he keeping her beside him against her will unwittingly out of some misplaced wish on her part to not hurt him? Was she… pitying him or did she not realise her own feelings yet?

Did that make him an evil person for wanting a bit of happiness for himself?

' _I want her to be happy, but I want to be happy too.'_

He buried his head in his hands.

' _Bloody hell. I should be angry. I should be furious, and I am, but I also… I understand.'_

"Ron? Ron?! What are you doing here?" It was her voice and judging by how close she sounded she must be standing just beside him.

He felt one of her hands in his back, the other trying to pry his hands away from his face. She sounded concerned, not angry, not like she was hiding something. Just worried. "What's wrong, baby?"

' _I want to be happy too.'_

He wanted to speak and tell her that he was alright, but it felt like he swallowed a ton of glass and it still lingered inside his throat, digging into his skin, blocking his breath.

It hurt. It burnt.

His lungs burnt.

"It is nothing, just turned around too fast," he replied as he tried to pretend that there weren't tears clinging onto his eyes or that his voice didn't crack.

"Are you sure you aren't hurt?" she asked, and for a second he could almost see the old Hermione, the one who loved him.

It hurt.

"I am sure, don't worry. I thought about meeting you here… You already had company. It was obvious… "he trailed off, his hands raking through his hair and the words 'that you were happy' getting stuck inside his throat.

"Ron, I swear I was just having lunch with Severus, I know it looks bad, but Pomona couldn't come, and he offered and I…"

"It's okay, 'Mione. I know you wouldn't do that. I brought you chocolates, do you want some?" It hurt when he smiled, offering up the box that lied forgotten at his side.

"Ron…"

"Do you want some chocolate?" He repeated, putting the box on the table and it's almost desperate. She looked like she wanted to protest; "later, Hermione, please, we'll speak, I swear, just… later." His voice broke at the last syllable.

Later, and it almost felt like a supplication, like a plea.

A request for time so the lump inside his throat cleared up, and so he wouldn't feel like this was tearing him up inside. He was just asking for a bit of time, so he could gather his courage and do the right thing.

A bit of time so he could let her go…

He wasn't being selfish, he just wanted... time…

Was it so bad that he wanted a bit more of time before he let her go?

' _I want to be happy too.'_

The thought tasted bitter on his tongue, because he knew he won't be.

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Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed reading my little story and that you were as satisfied after reading it as I was while writing it, If not, could you tell me why?

All sort of feedback is welcome!

¿Does it deserve a review?

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